


Of assets and stubborn Irishmen

by fakevermeer



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunkenness, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakevermeer/pseuds/fakevermeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Hobbit wrap party. In which Dean is definite-finely-vetively NOT drunk, Aidan plans to sleep on the sofa, and Peter Jackson is secretly a matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of assets and stubborn Irishmen

“Come on then, you big…” Aidan grunts as he half pushes, half drags Dean out into the cold. They’re reminded of Wellington’s nickname once again on the short way from the building to the waiting taxi as the winter wind blows their hair into their eyes. Aidan shivers as he opens the door of the taxi, holding it open for Dean, who laborously climbs inside.

“Hurry up, will you, I’m freezing my arse off here,” Aidan mutters, as it takes Dean’s slow drunken limbs far too long to position themselves in a way that leaves any room for Aidan on the backseat.

“Awww, come on, Turner,” Dean slurs, patting the empty space next to him. “Don’t want you to lose your most valuable asset now, do we? Get it? Asset?”

Ignoring the fact that Dean is now giggling over his own brilliant little pun, Aidan climbs into the taxi and quickly shuts the door. He tells the cab driver the address of their hotel and leans back with his eyes closed as the car starts to move.

“That wrap party was sweet-as,” Aidan hears Dean grumble appreciatively from beside him. Aidan lifts an eyebrow as he opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Dean.

“So when you’re drunk, your kiwi side takes over?” Dean sits up a little straighter.

“I’m not drunk!”

“Yes, you are.” “I most definite-finely-vetively - I am NOT drunk.” Somewhere along the way he does realise that not being able to get out the word ‘definitely’ might be an indication of his drunkenness, and an apologetic grin curls his lips as he looks at Aidan. “Aaaaaalright. Maybe I am. A little. But!” He sticks up one finger to emphasize his point. “It was a great party.”

“Yes,” Aidan sighs happily. “Yes, it was. A party worthy of the sons of Durin.”

Aidan can’t believe their time in New Zealand flew by as quickly as it did. Being able to dress up as a Dwarf and run around in Middle-Earth and meeting these incredible people had changed his life. He should probably send Peter a thank you card. He glances over to Dean, who is now sitting slumped in the seat, his eyes slowly closing, his hands folded across his chest, and he can’t help but smile.

It’s weird going back to a hotel instead of their appartments. All their stuff was already gone, and they were spending their last days in Wellington in a fancy hotel Peter had picked out for them. He’d told them to go and enjoy the city for a few days. What he hadn’t told them was that he’d gotten them one room. For the both of them. Maybe not a thank you card after all. Fucker.

Still - Aidan glances sideways again only to see a now softly snoring Dean - things could be worse. The taxi pulls up to the hotel and Aidan pays their fare. He opens the door and shakes Dean by the shoulder to wake him up, which doesn’t really work.

“Dean,” Aidan says, getting a little impatient - the wind really was very cold. “Dean, wake up, man. We’re here.”

Dean’s eyes fly open and he scrambles for the car door. When he’s finally standing outside the taxi and the car drives away, he looks around, slightly disoriented.

“Where’s the party?” he slurs.

Aidan snorts and leads him into the hotel. “We just came from the party, you idiot. This is a hotel, you know, with beds, and showers.” Or in their case, one bed, and one shower.

As they wait for the elevator doors to open, Dean leans into Aidan to keep from falling over.

“If I remember correctly,” Dean says, when he stumbles into the elevator and pushes some buttons at random, making Aidan swoop in to push the one they actually need, “our hotel room has a minibar.”

Aidan stares at Dean, who is now grinning broadly at him, apparently quite proud of himself for thinking of something so brilliant. “Our hotel room also has a bed,” he tells Dean, steering him out of the opened elevator doors by his shoulders. “And the difference between the bed and the minibar is that we’re going to use the first one and we’re definitely not going to use the second one.”

“We’re using the bed?” Dean says, slipping his arm around Aidan’s waist as he waits for Aidan to open the door. “Together?”

Aidan pushes Dean into the room, closes the door, throws the keys on the table and decides to ignore Dean’s comment. The guy was drunk, and Aidan was planning on letting him take the bed as he’d sleep on the sofa himself.

As he takes off his coat, suddenly Dean is right in front of him. Aidan sort of freezes mid-action and stares at him. “You didn’t answer my question,” Dean murmurs, his breath a mixture of whiskey and spearmint.

“Like I said, you’re drunk,” Aidan answers, trying to pull himself together. He throws his coat on the floor and tries to take a step in the general direction of the bathroom, but Dean is still right there. In fact, Dean is now standing very much in his personal space. Aidan realizes he really doesn’t mind much.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re drunk enough to not remember any of this in the morning.”

“Not true,” Dean says, pulling a face that reminds Aidan of someone trying to remember what he had for dinner five days ago. “I think this’ll be pretty hard to forget.”

He closes the small distance between their lips and he must be standing on tiptoes because there’s no way in hell that he’s able to fit his mouth to Aidan’s so easily and Aidan wants to push him away but actually he finds that he doesn’t really want to, actually. The way his jeans start to feel a little too tight around the crotch area is a good indication as well.

They’re kissing sloppily and Dean actually stumbles into Aidan at some point but somehow they manage to reach the single bed in one piece. As the edge of it hits Aidan in the back of the knees and Dean’s full weight pushes into his front he collapses onto it, Dean right on top of him. All this without breaking the kiss. If he wasn’t so busy getting his lower lip sucked by a certain New Zealander, Aidan would be impressed. He groans as Dean’s mouth moves from his lips to his jaw, from his jaw to his neck and from his neck to the collar of his sweat-drenched shirt.

“Off,” Dean mumbles at him, as he sits up and starts unbuttoning his own shirt.

Aidan doesn’t need to be told twice and even as he’s in the middle of taking off his shirt, he feels Dean’s mouth on his chest. He lies back on the bed and lets Dean kiss a trail of goosebumps down his stomach. Aidan’s breath hitches when Dean pauses at the edge of Aidan’s jeans and looks up at him, as if he asks for his permission.

A small nod and Dean’s fingers are struggling to open the admittedly quite complicated buckle on Aidan’s fancy belt. Aidan sniggers and playfully slaps Dean’s hands away as he sits up to do it himself. As soon as the buckle is undone, and the jean’s are unbuttoned and unzipped, Dean pushes Aidan back down and takes off his jeans.

As his thumbs hook around the band of Aidan’s boxers, he brings his tongue back down to lick the jutting hipbone. Aidan is pretty sure he’s going to either start hyperventilating or pass out soon. Before he knows it, Aidan’s boxers have come off and are tossed somewhere on the hotel room floor.

Dean, who is still wearing his jeans, is sliding his hands under Aidan to cup his ass. He looks up at Aidan as he grins. “That’s an asset alright.”

“Shut up and get goin’,” Aidan snaps, his accent in full force, but he’s grinning as he says it. His hands reach up and behind him to find the bed’s headboard - he needs something to hold on to if what he thinks is going to happen is actually going to happen.

“So when I’m drunk, your Irish fishwife side takes over?” Dean grumbles as his stubble scratches the skin of Aidan’s stomach and his hands slide up Aidan’s sides.

Aidan can’t even think of an appropriate reply other than the moan that escapes his lips when Dean fits his mouth around the head of his dick.

What happens next is something Aidan can only describe as the best fucking blowjob he’s ever had in his entire life. Even though he’s drunk, or at least well on his way, Dean clearly knows what he’s doing - as his tongue curls and dips into the slit before sliding back down to lick the length of Aidan’s erection, Aidan can only scrunch up his face in the hopes of not shouting out in extacy. And then Dean brings one of his hands down to start massaging Aidan’s balls and Aidan is done.

Coming down from a high he hadn’t expected to reach ever, he finds Dean rummaging through the drawer of the bedside table.

“What’re you looking for?” Aidan manages to say. Now he’s the one sounding drunk. He clears his throat.

Dean turns around, holding up a box of tissues with a grin. He starts cleaning up the mess on Aidan’s stomach and chest, and, as he does so, kisses him deeply. Aidan has to do everything in his power to not melt into the mattress at this point - his joints are weak and his limbs weaker.

Aidan pulls away a little, looking up at Dean. “What about you?” He nods at Dean’s obvious erection. Dean grins at him.

“If I remember this in the morning - and I will, even if it was just to prove you wrong, you stubborn Irish dick - you’ll get to do to me what I just did to you.” He yawns widely and gets up from the bed. “Sleep, first.”

Dean throws away the tissues and strips down to his boxers as he walks back to the bed. He manages to wrestle the blanket free from under Aidan’s weight and slips under it, next to the Irishman. Aidan wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and breathes in deeply, his face buried in Dean’s neck.

“Remind me to send Peter a thank you card,” Aidan manages to mumble before he falls asleep.


End file.
